I’m pressing all my precious things,
to save them from the storm of time.
Regardless what the weather brings,
I’ll guard them in this book of mine.
I’m bottling all the battles won,
to soften all the ones I lost.
Perhaps the better things I’ve done,
can mitigate the heavy cost.
I’m freezing all my special friends,
before our friendship melts away.
I need the kind that never ends,
the kind that keeps on come what may.
I’m pickling all the little things,
the birthdays and the Christmases,
the things that sink with sufferings,
and disappear with distances.
I’m lacquering that last farewell,
the part before she leaves me there.
We hug and though she cannot tell,
I steal one last sniff of her hair.
I’m funneling my family,
into this new machine I built,
to capture their facsimile,
so I don’t have to face the guilt.
I tried to press my precious things,
but time found ways to claim them back.
The hidden man who pulls the strings,
must want us to endure the lack.